


How Little He Cares

by thirdholmes



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Crack Treated Seriously, Espionage, Fancy as a villain is just hot okay, Hacking, I never thought I would actually write boxfancy but here we are, M/M, MI6 Agents, Not my AU, Yes they kiss, also uh ronnie box's arms, i don't make the rules, or not really, spy AU, that's it send tweet, up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdholmes/pseuds/thirdholmes
Summary: "Fancy smiled into the kiss.Then he curled his free hand into a fist and punched Box in the side of the head."MI6 agent Ronnie Box comes head to head with the elusive rogue, George Fancy, who just wants to complete his mission without distraction. Unfortunately, Box provides plenty, and Fancy has to try and show him just how little he cares. Naturally, he fails.
Relationships: Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	How Little He Cares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> guardianoffun made a boxfancy spy au...I listened to diamonds by sam smith...then this happened

“Well, well, _fancy_ seeing you here.”

George Fancy huffed out a single breath, his hands stilling from their relentless flight across the keyboard. Whether it was a laugh or an exasperated sigh, he wasn’t sure. What he _was_ sure of, however, was the identity of the man on the other side of the room. Even without looking up from the screen.

After all, there wasn’t another soul in the world that could still find humour in that tired, uninspired joke.

“Still not funny, Agent Box,” Fancy’s mouth quirked into a small smile as he hazarded a glance up at the other man, his larger form taking up much more space in the doorway than his ever could. That glance proved disastrous as he missed his next keystroke and nearly ruined five minutes worth of work. Still, it wasn’t as if he could be faulted for his concentration being broken. Box looked fit as ever. The short sleeves of his shirt did nothing to hide the strong cords of muscle that nearly rippled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, making no moves to close the distance between them.

Good. Fancy looked at the time on his watch. He was running out of time. No- scratch that- he was already out of time. Ten minutes. That’s what he planned for. Three minutes to break into the offices at Six, five minutes to download the files he needed, two minutes to get his arse out. Leaving always went quicker, especially when that meant rappelling out of a window. 

But now Box was here. That complicated things in more ways than one. 

“Funny isn’t part of my job,” Box smirked, taking a step from the doorway. Even in the dim light of the darkened office his smile still managed to brighten his face, cheeks dimpling ever so slightly. “I still see that with all your thievery you still haven’t managed to find one simple thing. Your sense of humour.”

“Is that so?” George still couldn’t stop looking at how tight his shirt fit against his body, even under the stab-proof vest. Seriously, there was some sort of protocol about body armour so surely MI6 would have thrown a dress code in there alongside it. Then again, Agent Morse dressed like a bloody schoolteacher half the time, so apparently not. It would take a lot more than some kind of rule to get Agent Ronnie Box to wear longer sleeves, God forbid a _jacket._

Box took another long stride toward him, closing the distance with his lithe, panther-like movements. The waves of his hair were much easier to see this close, almost caramel in the dim gold light from the one lamp Fancy had turned on to see by. As a rule, he tended not to turn on lights when breaking into government offices to steal sensitive information, but the Doc was going on and on about him losing his sharp eyesight before thirty if he kept doing things the way he was. Espionage would certainly be a lot harder if Fancy had to keep remembering to put in or take out contacts. So- lights. 

Except now, it seemed that light had given him away. The offices were supposed to be empty at this hour, so what the hell was Box even doing here?

“What are you doing here so late, Agent Box?” Fancy arched an eyebrow, allowing himself a small smirk as he continued typing, careful not to make any more mistakes. “Last I checked, MI6 doesn’t do overtime. I should know, I used to work here.”

Box scoffed out a small laugh, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his sides. Immediately, Fancy’s spine straightened and he tensed, eyes darting down to Box’s waist in search of the gun- but there was no weapon. His holster was empty, the damn fool. At least George wasn’t that much of an idiot. The gun tucked into his waistband was a reassuring presence pressing into the small of his back. 

Still, Box came unarmed. What did that mean? Did he know it was Fancy here and not someone else? That knowledge must have led him to the conclusion that he didn’t need a weapon. Cocky bastard. 

“Your old position in tech is still open, you know,” Box said far too conversationally. Like he wasn’t an MI6 agent that had caught Fancy red handed having broken into the fifth storey offices at Riverhouse, like Fancy wasn’t downloading- stealing- classified records, like they weren’t ten feet from each others’ throats. “You’re good, Fancy. Six wants you back on the payroll.”

Now it was Fancy’s turn to scoff. “I’m not in it for the money.”

“Payroll comes with a pardon.” Box inclined his head, searching for something on Fancy’s face. As if the promise of a pardon was incentive enough to come crawling back to the white halls of Six. As if the charge of treason was the only thing keeping him from that ridiculous desk job. 

Now _that_ was funny. “I don’t need Thursday and Bright’s forgiveness. _Or_ the money.”

“Five ten carat diamonds stolen from a dealer in Antwerp beg to differ.”

George pressed the enter key and lines of code streamed past his eyes, the loading icon popping onto the screen. At last, the light on the end of the thumb drive blinked on. He watched the bar on the screen increase in short increments. Five percent. Fifteen percent. Twenty five percent. Fancy needed to stall. 

Luckily, he knew exactly who he was working with. Ronnie Box was nothing but predictable, especially when it came to George Fancy. He was still predictable back when George was just the scrawny, unimposing hacker- sorry, _computer specialist-_ with thin framed glasses, long scarves, and coffee with too much sugar. Coffee that Box brought for him nearly every morning in some piteous attempt at flirting. 

Then, one day it became known there was a mole in Six. The look on Box’s face when he discovered it was Fancy was nothing short of priceless. Curse Box for still managing to look handsome staring down the wrong end of a gun. Maybe that was why both of them walked away that day. 

What were they talking about? Oh, the diamonds. Right. 

Fancy shrugged. “Well, even spies have to pay the bills. I just don’t need Her Majesty’s face stamped on mine.” 

Box chuckled, sounding genuinely amused. “Maybe you did find that sense of humour after all.”

Sixty seven percent. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? It was in some vault in Macau. Found it next to the Arc of the Covenant.”

“No chance of the Holy Grail, then?”

Eighty nine percent. “No, I pawned that in Brixton.”

Another laugh. The sound was rich and vibrant, almost disarming. God, did he have to be so endearing? “What are you doing here, Fancy?”

“Well, I didn’t come here for the company,” Fancy cast a pointed look his way, lips curling into a smirk.

Box pressed a hand above his chest, right above his heart. “You wound me.”

“If only.” 

“You’re really not going to tell me?”

The computer chirped and Fancy couldn’t resist a small, victorious smile as he withdrew the thumbdrive and pushed the chair back from the desk, standing to his full height- which irritatingly still came up short against Box. If Fancy cared to reach out, he would be able to touch him now. They were that close, standing on opposite sides of the desk.

“I’d say it was none of your business,” Fancy all but drawled, waving the drive in front of Box’s face before stowing it into his pocket. “But it quite literally is.”

This close and he could smell Box’s aftershave. It was the same as always. He really was fixed in his ways.

“You and I both know I can’t let you leave with that, Fancy.” Box’s voice dropped into something much lower, much cooler, and Fancy felt a shiver travel down his back despite the warmth granted by his black suit. 

“Oh, and you’re going to stop me, is that right?” 

“Not just me.”

Fancy glanced over to the doorway, seeing no one there, but the look on Box’s face told him all he needed to know and he held back an irritated groan. “Not Morse.”

“He’s five minutes away,” Box grinned. “I don’t like him either, but backup is backup. Needs must and all that.”

Agent Morse was, if possible, more irritating than his partner. He was as prickly as they came and always had this holier-than-thou attitude that drove Fancy up the wall. If George hadn’t actually been a double-agent operating undercover in Six he would have quit just to be rid of Morse’s presence. It was a good thing Morse had a pretty face because he certainly wasn’t getting his way into the trust of his marks through charm alone. For all his faults, however, Morse was a bloody good marksman. 

And he hated Fancy. That put a bit of a damper on their relationship. At least he and Box had rapport- or whatever _this_ was. 

Fancy surveyed his options. The stairs might be easier to get to, except Morse would be coming up those soon. The window- his pre-established escape route- was all the way across the room. And Box was in the way. 

He’d already secured the cord, all he had to do was attach it to his belt and jump. It was simple enough, as long as he could get to it. That part was a little less simple now. 

Well, it was worth a shot. 

Fancy took a steadying breath, forcing a concerned expression on his face. “Five minutes?”

Box seemed pleased with his worried look. “Five minutes.”

“Good,” Fancy flashed a grin and cherished the sudden flicker of surprise on Box’s face. “I only need three.”

He gripped the edge of the desk and flipped it at Box, sending the agent crashing to the ground along with three computer monitors, pinning him under the weight of the metal table. The bulb of the lamp shattered, plunging the room into near darkness save for the silver beams of moonlight shining like spotlights through the large windows. George made to run but Box’s hand lashed out and latched onto his ankle, tripping him up. Fancy landed flat on his chest, air rushing from his lungs in a painful gasp. 

_“Fancy, unless you’re planning on clearing your calendar in favour of booking a room in the cells of Six I’d suggest you get a move on,”_ Max’s voice said unhelpfully through his earpiece. The Doc had been silent up until now, he rarely interrupted Fancy on a mission unless there was something important.

Damn. Agent Morse must be here already. 

_Five minutes, my arse,_ Fancy thought darkly. Box _lied._

Not allowing himself even a moment to recover, Fancy kicked out with his free foot and almost smiled at the groan he heard as his boot connected with Box’s head. It was enough to stun him and Fancy quickly shook his other leg free, scrambling to his feet and reaching for his gun-

-only to be tackled to the floor once again, wrestled onto his back with Box’s weight on his front pinning him down. 

His earpiece was knocked free, effectively severing any further contact with Max who was likely monitoring Morse’s movements, and Fancy watched as it skittered across the floor, disappearing into the dark. He tried to fight Box but his hits landed unsuccessfully and the agent seized his wrists with ease, holding his gloved hands above his head and causing his arms to stretch out just short of painful.

Their chests heaved against each other, their noses just hairs away from brushing as deep brown eyes stared back into blue ones that were made much clearer in the pale moonlight. If Fancy were the poetic type, he would say they looked like twin diamonds staring down at him. He was sure his own face was slightly flushed but Box hadn’t even broken a sweat, only a few hairs out of place to show how little he was frazzled by the whole ordeal. The more Fancy struggled, the more amused Box seemed to appear, until finally Fancy huffed out a breath and let his head fall back against the hard floor, simply staring up at Box’s face above his own. The smirk on his face was past charming and well on its way to obnoxious. 

“What was that about three minutes?” Box’s breath was warm against his skin. In fact, his entire body was warm. The man was a damn furnace. 

“What was that about five?” Fancy shot back. 

“Touché.” One of Box’s hands left Fancy’s wrists and ghosted down to his waist, fingers skimming around the shape of the thumbdrive in his pocket. Fancy had seen Box dent walls with his fist, but his fingers were far too deft and gentle as they delved into Fancy’s pocket to remove the drive, holding it victorious above his face before slipping it into his own pocket. “I think I’ll be holding onto that now.”

Good God, the man really didn’t think he’d won, did he? 

“You know,” Box’s tone was almost mocking as he continued to grin. “I think I do like you better without the glasses.”

Fancy scoffed, unable to believe how ridiculous he was being. “I don’t care what you think, Box.”

“I don’t think that’s quite true.” 

“What did I _just_ say?” 

Box’s smile wavered for just a moment as he regarded Fancy strangely, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he searched the man’s face for something- what that was, Fancy didn’t know. 

“What are we?” 

_What?_ Fancy held back his surprise as masterfully as he could. That wasn’t a question he was expecting.

“Done,” Fancy answered deftly, not breaking eye contact. “That’s what we are. Done.”

Box didn’t seem put off by the reply. “And yet here you are.” 

“And yet here I am.” Fancy agreed. What he was agreeing with, however, was beyond him. 

There was a charged moment of silence where neither of them dared move. Fancy’s hands were restrained but he could still feel time slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t waste another moment. 

Even pinned down, Fancy still had one more trick up his sleeve. The good thing about being in his position was that he wasn’t afraid to play dirty. Cruelty was a luxury he could afford. 

That was why Box would always lose. Because he cared. He cared so much. But Fancy? Well, it was time to show Box just how little he cared. 

“You know,” Fancy grinned lightly, mirroring Box’s earlier words. He fixed his eyes on the agent’s, his own breaths coming easier now. “There’s usually a date before it gets to this point.”

Box, the poor man, just looked confused. “Before it gets to wh-”

He didn’t get to finish because Fancy had surged upward, pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. Warmth surged through him at the contact and he could feel Box’s body relax above him, his lips parting even further to deepen the kiss, a low sound building in the back of the agent’s throat. His grip around Fancy’s wrists slackened, then was gone, hands roaming down to brace himself against the floor, easing the weight of his body from the smaller man’s chest. 

Fancy smiled into the kiss. 

Then he curled his free hand into a fist and punched Box in the side of the head. 

Box broke away, a groan of pain torn from his lips, but he barely had time to look surprised before Fancy hiked his legs up and planted his feet against the agent’s chest, kicking him back into the fallen desk. He was slighter in build but had enough leverage to do the trick, and he got to his feet for the second time, ignoring Box’s curses and grunt of pain. 

The kiss was a good distraction, it seemed, and very well timed, because in the same moment that Box got to his feet, Morse rushed into the room, weapon drawn.

And in that same moment, Fancy gave a small wave, flashing one last grin at the agents before he clipped the line to his belt and disappeared out of the window. 

“No!” Morse shouted furiously, running to where Fancy had vanished in vain hope of catching him. 

But he was long gone.

“I thought you could handle him!” Morse whirled on Box, stowing his gun back into its holster as he stared at the other agent, incredulous. “You’re twice his size and this is the _second_ time he’s gotten the drop on you!”

“You had a gun on the Talentis and they still managed to escape you in Prague,” Box pointed out, wiping a thin trickle of blood from his mouth as he did his utmost not to throttle the other man where he stood. As tempting as it was, that would be far too much paperwork. “Don’t lecture me about Fancy until _you_ can start thinking with your _head_ and not your-”

“Just tell me Fancy didn’t get what he came here for,” Morse cut him off as he crossed his arms irritably, his expression as fiery as his hair. 

“He tried to steal some files, managed to download them onto a drive before I got it back.” Box reached into his pocket to take out the thumbdrive. It felt smaller than he remembered, what-

He looked at what he had in his hand and let out a laugh, shaking his head. Box almost reached to touch his lips, the ghost of a sensation barely there as he thought of what Fancy had done. One kiss. That was all it took for him to escape, to do _this._

Fancy really was good.

“What?” Morse demanded, staring at him crossly. “What is it?”

When Box didn’t answer, Morse stormed over to him and grabbed his hand, exposing what was in his palm.

It wasn’t a thumbdrive.

It was a single, square cut, ten carat diamond. 

_Well how about that._ Box smiled wryly.

"He does care."


End file.
